A Slip of the Tongue
by books-are-better
Summary: It's Katniss's 21st birthday, and she has been keeping her feelings about Peeta Mellark to herself for several months. But maybe a little booze will loosen her tongue. One Shot.


Okay, I'll admit it: I'm drunk. Five shots, three mojitos, and half a beer later, and the walls feel friendly and everything that Finnick says is hilarious.

"This is fucking awesome!" Finnick shouts in my ear. "You should turn twenty-one every night."

I giggle, unable to do much else. This night is exactly how I hoped it would be. Great drinks, great people, great times. This is the first time I've had more than a beer in one sitting. Most of the decision not to drink stems from the fact that I think booze tastes like lighter-fluid, and not an abhorrence to underage drinking. But turning twenty-one is a rite of passage, and I knew I was going to have to just forget my taste buds and get fucked up. Also, I have two very mouthy and alcohol-enthusiastic friends, Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason, who wouldn't let me slide by my 21st birthday without drinking until the world blurred.

"And look, Peeta's having a good time, too," Finnick says, elbowing me suggestively.

Finnick has known about my crush on baker and new resident to our town, Peeta Mellark, for almost two months now, and he uses every available moment to make fun of me for it.

I elbow him back, hard, as my eyes search for Peeta. I find him at the bar, waiting for some drinks. His elbows are resting on the chipped wood, his body hunched, and his backside on display. I lick my lips. Damn, I want to eat ice cream off that ass. It's perfectly round and obviously toned; it fills out his deep blue boot-cut jeans incredibly. It's my third favorite thing about Peeta Mellark.

As if sensing my gaze, Peeta turns in my direction. A smile breaks out on his face—a smile I want to claim, and hope, is for me.

"Go over there," Finnick whispers in my ear, elbowing me again. "Ask him to give you your birthday spankings."

I punch him in the arm, causing him to gasp and laugh, but I take his advice. My booze-addled mind agrees with Finnick: I should go over there and talk to him. What's the worst that could happen?

"Hey, Birthday Girl," he coos, when I'm only a foot away, pushing past the last couple bodies to get to him.

"Hey, Peeta, having fun?" I ask. I think he is. He's pretty good friends with Finnick and Johanna, who right now is playing pool in the corner and flirting with a muscled blonde.

"Of course!" he says, leaning closer to me so he doesn't have to yell over the noise. "This has been a great night."

"I think so!" I chirp back.

He laughs, and lifts an arm to run through his blonde curls. That's my second favorite thing about Peeta Mellark: his hair. It's a tousled mess of curls and waves, that flop around on his head in any which way. He doesn't style it in any particular way; he just lets it do its own thing. And its own thing is look gorgeous.

"God, you're hot."

My hand flies to my mouth, my eyes widening. Did I really just say that? Did I really just admit my feelings to Peeta Mellark, bakery owner and panty drencher?

Peeta's fly to mine, widening, too. Yeah, he didn't see that coming either.

"Oh, fuck," I say, collapsing onto the bar. I groan—a drunken groan that sounds like Chewbacca ate a peanut butter sandwich.

What is wrong with me? Do I like to torture myself? This is the booze's fault. I never would have said anything if this were different circumstances—if I wasn't drunk and horny from Finnick's mention of getting spanked my Peeta Mellark. Where is a tornado to suck you up when you need one?

"What do we have here?"

I lift my face off the bar and meet the narrowed eyes of Johanna Mason. She's glaring at me, but her eyes are full of amusement.

"Have a little too much to drink there, Brainless?" she asks.

I nod my head. Yes. Booze is the reason why I will probably never talk to Peeta Mellark again.

"Well, it's a good thing it's time to go, then."

I push myself up from the bar, purposefully avoid looking at Peeta, and notice how empty the bar has gotten in the last few minutes. I glance at my watch: 2:49. Closing time is in eleven minutes.

Finnick comes up behind us, Delly following close behind. "Let's get going, ladies! And Peeta," he says with a nod.

I follow Finnick out of the door, and Johanna whoops and laughs at whatever he is saying, before hooking her arm through his. There's never been anything between the two of them, but I can't help but notice how cute they could be if they ever decided to give it a shot. First, of course, they would have to give up their one-night-stand habits and settle down, and I don't see that happening for a while.

The plan is for all of us to head back to my place, because it's the biggest and it's my birthday, and continue the drinking and fun. Once we are out on the sidewalk, Delly loops her arm through mine. Maybe it's to steady my wobbly steps, but probably just because she's a touchy-feely kind of person. Not something I usually relate to, but the alcohol pumping through my system is making me enjoy the warmth and comfort you only get from another person, even if it's just Delly—someone I have no physical attraction to.

Peeta walks in front of us, giving us another model of his backside, and the perfect view of his sculpted shoulders. His thin, light green t-shirt is stretched over his toned muscles. I want to run my nails down his back and hear the moan erupt from his throat because of the action.

Delly giggles beside me.

"What?" I ask, turning towards her.

"Nothing really. You're just totally checking out Peeta and it's very amusing for me to see you so attracted to someone." She giggles again.

"Oh, shut it," I say, but I can't refute her. I was doing just that—and I haven't been so attracted to anyone else in my life.

From the second I laid eyes on Peeta, over two months ago, when I walked into his newly opened bakery for a loaf of bread, I was entranced. He has a kindness that's infectious, and a humor that is never mean or shaming. And of course, he has the most beautiful face I've ever seen—with a strong rose, naturally rosy cheeks, and full, pink lips.

He glances over his shoulder to the two of us, and we lock eyes. And this. This is my favorite thing about Peeta Mellark: his eyes. They aren't just a single color, like mine. Or like most people in the world. They are every shade of blue that has ever existed, or will ever exist, swirled into his iris. It's awe-inspiring. They make me weak in the knees. They are so open and honest, they make me want to shout my feelings from the mountaintops. They are kind and beautiful, just like he is.

I feel the blush deepen on my face; I've been in a permanent state of blush since I had my first shot this evening, but his gaze make me flustered and self-conscious—in a perpetual state of blush.

He turns his gaze back around just in time, and he doesn't run into Finnick and Johanna as they abruptly stop in the sidewalk in front of him. We've arrived at the car.

Delly hops into the driver's seat—the designated driver for the night—and Johanna and Finnick hop around to the passenger side. I immediately panic. This car is some old-school model from the fifties; it has three seats in the front and three in the back, but only two seat belts in the back seat—the other was removed or lost or whatever who knows how long ago. Personally, I think the seatbelt is gone just to reinforce my humiliation.

"After you," Peeta says, startling me. He creeped up beside me when I wasn't looking.

"Okay." I open the door and climb in, pushing myself to the opposite side, leaving it open for Peeta. Another perk of this car: only one of the backdoors works. The other is permanently locked shut.

Peeta slides in next to me in the cozy back seat, and slams the door shut just as Delly cranks the engine. Johanna, who is sitting in the middle, instantly starts to fiddle with the radio until she finds a station that she likes; a hip-hop station she, of course, turns up so loud my ears begin to bleed.

Finnick and Johanna dance to the music as Delly pulls out of the parking spot, and Peeta and I finish buckling ourselves in.

After a while or just sitting, I begin to groove to the beat as well—which is just another sign that I'm tipsy. This is not my usual style of music; I like more singer-songwriter, acoustic rock. But my hips feel the need to shake, and Finnick and Johanna's laughter makes me want to laugh too.

The alcohol is starting to fade a little from my system, which is unfortunate, because the more the booze fades, the more the mortification rises. I can't believe I said that he was hot. I mean, he is, but I was hoping to take that secret to my grave. I'm not a person who gets off on telling others how I feel; I keep most things to myself. And I was never planning on telling Peeta how I felt. I was hoping he would eventually start to like me and ask me out or I would get over him with time. I don't make the move, ever. Which is probably while I've been single for almost two years.

I'm so caught up in my own thoughts that I don't even notice that Peeta has moved closer to me until his lips are grazing my left ear.

"I'm attracted to you, too. Just so you know," he whispers.

I pull back from him, shocked. My eyes meet with his blue ones, shining bright in the dark. Really?

Peeta nods, as if I said that aloud—which, let's be honest, I could have actually done—and leans in closer again. So close I can feel his breath on my lips. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

I don't think about what I'm doing next. I just bring my hand to his face, run the tip of my fingers across his face and press my lips to his.

Actually, no.

I didn't do that. I didn't. I didn't take that last step.

I didn't kiss him.

Peeta Mellark kissed _me_.

He presses his lips to mine, soft but sure. He tastes like beer and promises, and I want to devour him. I lean into him, never wanting our lips to separate ever again. I want to kiss him until the oceans dry up and the sun explodes.

"Ow-ow!"

I break away from Peeta violently, my head whipping forward.

"Don't eat his face, Brainless," Johanna laughs, happy with herself.

"Peeta and Katniss sitting in a tree," Finnick begins to sing. Delly and Johanna gracefully join in, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Grow up!" I squeal, my voice cracking—which causes them all to crack up. Even Peeta chuckles, his chest rumbling against my arm.

I turn to him, ready to do some major verbal damage, but he smiles at me, and I forget to breathe. I've never seen him so close before, and he's even more beautiful. Not a single blemish or imperfection. Just a smattering of minuscule freckles on his rosy cheeks, which, I'm happy to see, are flushed from our kiss.

I lean forward to kiss him again when the car comes to an abrupt stop.

"We're here!" Delly chirps excitedly, and opens her door. I sigh, regretting the short commute, and prepare to get out. But Peeta doesn't move at all. He just looks at me, eyebrows furrowed.

"We'll meet you guys inside," Peeta says, raising his eyebrows up, asking permission. I nod hesitantly, not really sure why.

Finnick mumbles something I can't make out, but Johanna catcalls again and makes suggestive hand motions as she crawls out of the car.

I watch the three of them walk up the steps and into my apartment on the first floor. It's an old brownstone that's now divided into four apartments. I moved here a little over six months ago, and I have no desire to ever leave. The rent is ridiculously low for the quality that it is, and it's only three blocks from Mellark's Bakery.

Peeta's hand is suddenly on my face, and I move my gaze away from the door and to his eyes instead.

"Look, I don't know exactly how you feel, Katniss, but I really like you. You're smart and funny and sarcastic as hell. I would really love you go out with you sometime, if you want."

Is this really happening? Is Peeta asking _me_ out on a date? The sarcastic girl who hates most people and hasn't attracted a boy in over a year? Me?

"Yes," I whisper, and pull his face to mine.

I don't kiss him gently this time. I kiss him with all that I've got. I kiss him like he's water and I haven't had a drink in three days. I kiss him like I've wanted to kiss him for the last 78 days.

And Peeta reciprocates—eagerly. His lips press against mine, so smooth and slick. We open our mouths together, and our tongues fervently meet. We don't battle for dominance; we both have the power, and out tongues roughly push and wind together.

Peeta pulls at my braid, and I moan into his open mouth—which just gives him the opportunity to bite my lower lip. Hard. I whimper, the painful pleasure running through my body and pooling in my core. I scrape my nails down Peeta's back like I just imagined doing not ten minutes ago.

"Fuck me," he curses, and pulls me on top of him. And damn. I want to do exactly that.

I straddle his lap and pull at the opening of his jeans. Peeta breaks our kiss when he feels the tug, and looks at me with open eyes; his pupils are so round I can barely see the irises that make my stomach fill with butterflies.

"You want to do this? Now?" he asks, pressing his forehead to mine.

"Yes, Peeta. Fuck, I really do." And I kiss him again. All of the alcohol seems to have evaporated from my bloodstream; I'm just drunk on Peeta.

I don't even check to see if the streets are clear. This isn't a very busy part of town—but there could be three guys outside the car, eating popcorn and watching Peeta and me tear into each other, and I wouldn't care. I've spent too long keeping my feelings to myself, and now that I know he feels the same, I won't deny myself from taking the next step.

Peeta's hands find their way under my skirt, pushing up the flowy, black material. He slips his fingertips under the band of my underwear, and I gasp; he groans into my mouth in response, and kisses me harder. For the first time in my life, I'm happy that I wore a skirt. It's not that short or revealing, but it makes sex a whole lot easier than wearing pants.

I finish pulling down his zipper, and look down to see what I've revealed. Peeta's lips move to my neck, as I get my first glance at what he's packing. His erection is pushing against the soft grey fabric of his boxer briefs, and looks thick. I tentatively run my finger down his length, and Peeta hums into my skin. But I don't prolong the inevitable. I pull down the band and grip his pulsing cock.

"Fuck, Katniss," Peeta swears, and brings his lips back to mine. He kisses me hard, but distractedly, as I begin to rub my hand up and down his cock. The skin is hard and smooth, and there's a soft patch of curls at his base. It looks just as I imagined; thick and long, and eager to be touched. So I do just that.

My hand on Peeta must give him permission, because his fingers slide down the curve of my ass and dive fully underneath my panties. Before I can even feel self-conscious about the fact that I haven't trimmed myself in over six months, Peeta's finger dives into my dripping hole.

"Peeta!"

He plunges two fingers in and out of me rapidly, not waiting for me to get acclimated or in a teasing sort of way. It just shows me how must he wants this—how desperate he is. How much he wishes it wasn't his hand doing this.

It feels wonderful, but no matter how good it makes me feel, I squeeze his arm, asking him to stop.

"I don't want your fingers, Peeta," I say, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I want you."

Peeta doesn't hesitate. I push myself up onto my knees and he lifts his hips and pushes his jeans and underwear to the floor. I position myself back over him, and Peeta pushes my skirt up again.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Katniss," Peeta growls, his blue eyes blazing. I pulse at his words, and I can't wait any longer to be full of him.

Peeta pulls aside my panties, and I slide down onto him in one swift movement. And I'm in heaven. Peeta presses his forehead against mine, a loud groan escaping my throat, and I can't help but do the same. He thrusts up slightly and I rock my hips forward, burying him inside me fully. He fills me to the brim, and my insides wrap around him like he is meant to be there.

I slowly roll my hips again, before I pick up the pace. He holds my hips firmly, and helps me set a rhythm as I begin to repeatedly rise up to the tip before slamming back down on him. I bounce up and down his cock fervently, and Peeta's hands begin to roam everywhere, grabbing my ass, tweaking my nipples through my shirt, and finally, rubbing my throbbing clit.

"Oh, fuck, Peeta. Just like that."

Peeta grins and moves his fingers faster. My eyes lock on his, and he holds my gaze as I increase the pace of my gyrations. His hips meet mine thrust for thrust, and I try not to scream. His fingers and the delicious friction of the fabric against my clit has me desperate. He feels so amazing inside me; the head of his cock rubs on that spot that pushes me rapidly towards my orgasm. I'm tightening, so snug around his cock, I'm afraid it's hurting him.

"Katniss, you feel so good. Damn, you're so tight. I like you so much." The words pour out of him in a rapid rush, as if he couldn't hold onto them any longer. "I've been dreaming about this since I met you. I can't wait eat you out someday. Soon."

I moan at his words, and move faster against him and so does he. He moves his hands back to my hips, gripping them tightly, helping me with the speed of our fucking. Our pelvises begin to crash and clash as his thrusts become more erratic and his breathing more strained. His face is turning red with concentration, and his tongue runs along his bottom lip. I capture that lip with my teeth, before I push my lips against his.

Peeta breaks our kiss, gasping into my mouth. "Katniss," he whispers, squeezing his eyes closed tightly before opening them again. "I'm so close." His left hand slips between us and finds my clit again, and rubs it in hard circles.

And that's it. I'm gone. My walls flutter around him weakly before they clamp down, and I explode. I throw my head back and groan, my final thrusts hard and punishing. I feel his cock pulsing inside me and he groans my name so loud it echoes in the tight space as he comes, spilling into me.

I collapse onto him and my lips immediately press against his neck.

"Wow," Peeta whispers. His hands begin to run up and down my back in a soothing motion. "I never pictured that happening tonight."

I pull away from him and meet his beautiful eyes; they are glowing, even though the closest street light is several yards away. He is so fucking handsome. "But you have pictured it?"

His cheeks flush even more. "More or less."

I press my lips to his again, before I crawl off of him. I quickly pull my underwear back in place, before his cum can drip onto the car seat. I'll change them once we get inside. Peeta pulls his pants up and buckles them.

"So, are you free this weekend?" he asks. His hand finds mine and so do his eyes. "I'd really love to take you out for dinner."

I nod my head, still in a daze that I actually had sex with Peeta Mellark. "Dinner sounds great." I shake my head. "But, you know, the weekend is pretty far away." I crawl back to him, and press a soft kiss to his soft mouth. "And we are already at my apartment."

His hand dives to my hair and he pulls my mouth to his, forgoing the simple, sweet kiss I just gave him. This one is full of passion and need.

"That sounds amazing," he says, and his lips find mine again.

We finally exit the car and walk up the couple stairs to the door of my apartment. When we open the door, Johanna, Delly and Finnick are dancing around the living room—and swapping cash.

"I told you they would be together by the end of the night," Finnick says, as Delly hands him a twenty. "Katniss has been in heat since they met."

The entire room erupts in laughter, and I try not to blush or scream. But Peeta's hand finds mine, and I don't feel like doing anything but pulling him into my room for round two.


End file.
